


Thought you were a housecat (turns out you're a fox)

by PersonyPepper



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Assassin Jaskier | Dandelion, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Apologies, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Feelings, M/M, Worried Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:55:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24965566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PersonyPepper/pseuds/PersonyPepper
Summary: “You couldn’t have done shit, bard. You’re so fucking—” he trails off, biting away his word. Jaskier straightens, a scowl twisting his face.“I’m so fucking what, Geralt? Which part of me isn’t enough?”“Useless! None of you is enough, you’re fucking useless!” It bursts out of the witcher, his eyes widening as soon as it’s shouted out.Jaskier’s face smoothes into a mask of nothing, anger white hot in his stomach.Or, Geralt learns that his bard is capable of much more than he's let on.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Renfri | Shrike
Comments: 14
Kudos: 330





	Thought you were a housecat (turns out you're a fox)

**Author's Note:**

> Have fun! Written for purritopancakegaynerd on tumblr <33

Geralt shoves Jaskier against a wall, growling and spitting with anger. “What the  _ fuck,  _ Jaskier?!” The bard shudders, his stomach coiling with shame. “You didn’t think to wake me when fucking bandits came accross?”

“You were so tired, Geralt, I didn’t—” 

“You didn’t what! What were you  _ thinking? _ You’re a fragile fucking human, you tried to take down a fucking  _ band  _ of them?”

“I’m not helpless, Geralt—” he feels the breath knock out of him as the witcher shoves him back by his shoulders, winded in both shock and the impact.

“Like fuck you aren’t, you nearly got stabbed!”

“I could’ve—” he’s pinned again, Geralt’s body pressed against his, his teeth pulled into an angry scowl. 

“You couldn’t have done  _ shit, _ bard. You’re so fucking—” he trails off, biting away his word. Jaskier straightens, a scowl twisting his face.

“I’m so fucking  _ what, _ Geralt? Which part of me isn’t enough?”

“Useless! None of you is enough, you’re fucking useless!” It bursts out of the witcher, his eyes widening as soon as it’s shouted out.

Jaskier’s face smoothes into a mask of nothing, anger white hot in his stomach.

“Get off of me.” Geralt steps back as if he’s been shocked, his body jerking away. 

“Jaskier, I didn’t mean—” 

“Really, Geralt?” His voice is even as he calmly collects his belongings from the camp, “It sounded like you did. Sounded like you’ve wanted to say it for quite some time.”

The sun’s barely up as Jaskier tugs his bag over his shoulder, lute strapped across his chest. Roach neighs behind him, oddly nervous. He presses a kiss to her neck, ignoring Geralt’s guilt-ridden eyes boring into the back of his head as he walks away.

~~

“A string of murders?” Geralt asks, sipping his wine as he listens to the mayor. The man nods, obviously worried, hands wringing in nervousness.

“Ah yes, Master Witcher, and I—” his voice lowers conspiratorially, “I fear that I may be next.” 

An assassin, perhaps, the man certainly deserves it, the way he treats his people is an embarrassment, kept in poverty and near-slavery. Perhaps a coup, even. But neither possibility explains the serial murders of seemingly-normal townsfolk. Still, he doesn’t really care.

“I don’t kill humans.”

“No, but you do save us innocents.” Geralt carefully hides a scoff, thoroughly unbelieving that this man is  _ innocent.  _ “Please, I have coin, sixty-nine-hundred gold pieces in my savings, I’ll write them all to your name if you accompany me, only for the night, at least, he’s rumoured to strike when the moon is highest in the night sky, Witcher, I beg of you—”

Geralt sighs. Yes, Vesemir would be disappointed, but also,  _ nearly seven-thousand gold pieces. _

“Fine. I require lodging.” The mayor nods hurriedly and has a servant, skinny to the bone, show him into a guest room _. _

~~

Geralt waits for the hours to tick by, staring out the window as the moon rises. The mayor paces behind him, fat fingers lined with gold and jewels. “Master Witcher?” Geralt grunts, turning to face him. “Surely, The Lark knows of your presence in my bedroom. He’ll not come tonight, will he?” Geralt shrugs, glancing at the window before turning back to face the man.

“Humans are wild creatures that know no peace when they put their mind to something.” The mayor hums and Geralt’s forced to open the window, the room reeking of far too much fear. 

Only for Geralt to fall back into the room, a sturdy kick and two feet collide with his chest, forcing him to fall to the ground. The body easily jumps into the room, The Lark, no doubt, even on his feet as his eyes bore into the mayor, who desperately tries to open the door, forgetting it’s locked in his haste. The Lark begins to run to him, only for Geralt to flick out and grab at his ankle, throwing off his balance.

Geralt  _ should  _ be able to overpower him, only Lark’s quick on his feet, managing to duck and roll the last second. Of course, he’s still no match for a witcher, and Geralt tackle him to the ground, only for the Lark to flick his wrist, a blade flinging through the air. The witcher hears it whistle through the air, find its mark, embedding into the mayor’s neck with a quiet sound and the gurgle of blood in his throat.

Geralt looks back to the man pinned underneath him, knowing that the mayor’s beyond saving. That, and he doesn’t particularly care if he dies. 

Blue eyes stare back at him, the rest of The Lark’s face wrapped around with black cloth, but he doesn’t need to see who The Lark’s face to know who he is, doesn’t even need the color of his eyes, only the absolute anger that burns in them, the same anger he’d seen when they’d parted.

“Jaskier,” he breathes, letting himself be flipped onto his back, the bard,  _ The Lark _ straddling him, a knife held up in a grip, ready to drive into the side of his neck. Geralt relaxes underneath him, hands wrapping around the bard’s hips.

Well, bard no more, it seemed.

They remain suspended, Jaskier tense above him as he stares down into Geralt’s eyes.

“ Are you satisfied now, Geralt? Am I  _ enough _ now? Or still too useless to your tastes?” The Lark spits out and the witcher’s eyes flutter closed as guilt fills his chest after so long of ignoring his feelings.

The door bursts open, a small band of five people run in.

“Lark?” One of them calls. She places her hand over Jaskier’s shoulder and he instantly relaxes under her touch.

“I’m alright, Renfri. Let’s go, there’s nothing left to be done, here.” His voice is a melody to Geralt’s ears as he rises to his feet, aching to draw the bard into his arms, to apologize. He takes a step forward, his hand reaching for his friend, only for Jasksier to spin, pressing a knife blade to Geralt’s neck.

“Don’t fucking touch me, Geralt,” he hisses.

“Jaskier—”

“ _ Lark. _ ”

“For Melitele’s sake, won’t you just listen to me?” Geralt shouts, teeth bared.

Jaskier pulls back and regards him with a cool look. “Leave, Geralt,” he says finally. He plucks the knife he’d thrown into the mayor’s neck, the thing dripping with blood before he wipes it onto his clothes. Black. The idea of Jaskier wearing  _ black _ is so forgein, of him wielding a knife, even.

The woman,  _ Renfri _ , spits at his feet as the rest of the people file out, glaring at him as she follows them. 

~~

He finds him a tavern, dressed in a baby blue doublet, relaxed as he strums his lute to a willing audience. The bard isn’t peacocking, and to not see him prance over tables, singing his heart out is a stark difference from what he sees now. Even though Jsksier is much less energized, he still commands the room, all eyes turned to him as they nurse their ales in the early evening. 

Renfri notices him first as the traven quiets at his presence, Jaskier lazily looking up at him with uninterested eyes, though Geralt can hear his heart race.

“You’re not welcome here, Witcher,” she says, a couple others rising to join her.

“Renfri,” Jaskier calls; she doesn’t look away from Geralt, stalking closer. 

“Give it a rest, Renfri!” Not taking his eyes off him, she backs away, calling out  _ Sorry, Lark _ as she retreats. 

Jaskier tucks his lute into his case, handing it to her before he goes out the door, Geralt following behind him.

“What’re you still doing here, Geralt,” he asks, away from prying eyes, arms crossed over his chest.

“Needed to talk to you.”

“Really? You made it perfectly clear what you thought of me,” Jaskier walks forward till Geralt’s backed against the wall, “ _ Useless, _ remember? Not even good for money-making, and of course, redefining your image— oh, I was an idiot to pursue such a thing, wasn’t I? You clearly weren’t treated any better, my work did null for our lives, did it?” His words are sharp, his body shaking in barely-contained anger. “Am I less useless now? A trained assassin, finally putting his skill to good and picking away the Continent’s waste, Geralt, are you proud?”

The witcher blinks, overwhelmed by the words, feeling like a cornered animal as he manages to mutter out, “You’re a what?”

Jaskier scoffs, stepping back. “Of course that’s what you fixate on, you bastard, I can’t believe you.” A scowl marrs his face, and Geralt snaps back to himself with the memory it brings.

“Jaskier, no. I—you're not useless. I need you.”

The… assassin looks up at him, a single brow raised. “Why? Just so you can call me a shit-shoveller? Tell me I’m good for nothing every day till I finally fucking die and take myself out of your care?”

“Jaskier, I was worried! That you’d have gotten hurt and you hadn’t woken me and I was so fucking worried that you wouldn’t if it happened again.”

“Brilliant way to express  _ concern _ , Geralt, shove your friend against a tree and yell at him, that’s sure to do the trick!” They’re caught in a yelling match, Jaskier’s chest heaving, his arms thrown out in frustration.

“I was wrong,” Geralt says finally. “I was wrong to have yelled at you, and to try and physically intimidate you.” 

“Damn right, you were. But just because you apologized doesn’t mean I’m going to come crawling back, Geralt. You treat me like  _ shit _ .”

Geralt feels his heart twist at Jaskier’s tone, so dejected and hurt. Fuck, he wishes witchers didn’t feel emotion, the pain in his chest chokes him, lips pressed tight to keep a whimper in his mouth.

“I’ll— I’ll be better,” Jaskier looks up at him, blue eyes filled with suspicion and doubt. “You were so good to me, I’m… I’m sorry.” His voice is so quiet that he fears Jaskier’s not heard him, underwood him for a second, only to have fingertips under his chin gently tilt his head up, forcing him to look at Jaskier. 

“Fine. Fine, but you’re going to have to make it up to me. And if you fucking  _ dare _ try to shove me and intimidate me,” the threat hangs in the air—Geralt’s seen Jaskier in action. He knows full well that the man can take care of himself. “Gods, Renfri’s going to strangle me.”

Geralt hums his assent. Jaskier sighs and rubs a hand over his face before he glances up at the witcher. “Oh come here, you bastard,” being wrapped in Jaskier’s hug feels more like coming home than he could’ve imagined. He sags into the embrace, his own hands hesitantly wrapping around the bards. 

“Are we okay?” Geralt asks when they finally pull back.

Jaskier looks at him, a soft smile on his face. “No, not really. But we will be.” 

And that’s good enough for Geralt.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi to me @persony-pepper (tumblr)! Comments give me life! <33


End file.
